I'm the hero of this story
I don't need to be saved
I don't need to be saved
There is no scorn in the other man’s expression, which he takes as a good sign, and August is too practiced a reader of faces to miss the way the stranger almost laughs. That, at least, fit in with Solterrans and their views of violence - although, to be fair, he could name a good few Dencotians who would shrug such things off the same way. Most days, he could be included among them.
At the man’s reply he arches a brow. Before they get any further, however, the noise swells like a wave and the ground beneath them vibrates, and both of them - along with everyone else here - turn toward the ring.
August has to bend closer to hear the bay’s words, but as soon as he does a crooked grin winds across his mouth. “Ah, he answers, as though it all makes sense now. “She did the same to me-” but his commiseration is cut short. His ears flick back and his head jerks, and he twists toward the instigator, also ready to yell - but lets the words die unspoken as the stallion is swallowed up by the crowd. In the end he only clicks his teeth in irritation and sniffs at the ale on his shoulder.
“At least it wasn’t mead,” he says, although his annoyance has not left him. “I’ll buy us a round, after she wins.” The palomino is almost shouting to be heard over the din, a roar that only increases when Amaunet rises above the ring like an avenging angel.
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